To Comfort the Afflicted
by Ace Bullets
Summary: A/U. Who can the beleaguered Sgt. Greg Parker turn to in the aftermath of the events of 'Fault Lines' and 'Personal Effects? Note - No warnings needed because there's nothing explicit contained within.


**A/N: Okay, so this plot bunny hatched (as they so often do) at 2AM in the morning and would not leave me alone. Ed and Wordy have Sophie and Shelley. Sam and Jules have each other. Spike has... Babycakes, I guess. This story can definitely be taken as an AU, since clearly what I'm insinuating for Greg has not been established on the Show. Spoilers for 'Fault Lines' and 'Personal Effects'.  
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**To Comfort the Afflicted**

It was nearly midnight when the Team One Sergeant, Greg Parker, dragged himself out of his car and slowly made his way to the door. He was bone-tired by this time, and didn't want to think about anything after the Boston Marathon of a day they'd all had. Truthfully, all he wanted to do was tumble into bed and sleep for a week.

He entered his house and paused to slide the deadbolt into place with a noisy click. Groaning, Greg stepped out of his shoes, mechanically hung up his jacket on the peg behind the door, and rubbed his weary eyes and sockets until he felt somewhat better.

As he turned to continue down the passageway, Greg noticed a light shining from the living room.

She was still awake.

"You shouldn't have waited up," he gently reproached, staring at her as she perched on the couch, an open book on her lap and a mug of warm milk on the coffee table. She'd let down her hair from the tight, formal French-braid, and it was spilling around her shoulders, bright in the lamplight.

"Of course I should have," she replied, as if it were unthinkable that she fall asleep at a time like this, after everything that had happened today. "How's Ed?"

"Still in surgery when I left," Greg said as neared and sat down next to her. She put aside the book and snuggled closer to him. Grateful for her presence, he rested his head against hers, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked, hand on his chest rubbing soothing circles against his aching muscles.

Greg could hear the shade of worry in her query. He'd seen it in her face the moment the 10-33 call came in and he'd asked if all her team were accounted for; saw the worry escalate and when he'd stated with certainty that the SRU 'officer down' could only be Ed Lane.

"They're concerned there might be some nerve damage to his arm, but they've got the best surgeon they have working on him, so…" he trailed off.

"So we'll just hope and pray for the best outcome," she said decisively. "Ed's a fighter. That he waited so long to even let them operate on him so he could be with Sophie… He took what, seven bullets? Greg, he's lucky to even be alive. He'll be back; I'm betting on it. Team One will be good as new."

"Yeah… probably so," Greg muttered, noncommittally.

She stopped massaging him and looked at him curiously. "What is it? Did something else happen with Toth?"

Greg heaved a weighty sigh at how perceptive she was. "We're on probation."

"What?" she couldn't hide her shock. "Why?"

"He poked at every possible weak spot you can imagine. Things about Spike… and Wordy…"

At the mention of Constable Wordsworth's nickname, she felt a prickle of unrest. She mentally gave her head a shake, dismissing what she'd overlooked during his weapons requalification. If anyone had asked, of course his weapon had jammed. Then, she outright lied to herself that it had nothing to do with the fact that she wanted Team One to succeed because of her esteem for its Team Sergeant, and much more.

"He also knows about Sam and Jules," Greg continued, knowing the snipers' dalliance was an open secret, "and he's holding me responsible for turning a blind eye and possibly endangering the team and the public."

"The 'priority of life' code?" she guessed, with a rueful twist of her mouth.

"Yes. Toth is now going to be copied on every call we answer. He says if Sam and Jules cross the line again and violate the code, he's going to call for them to be re-assigned, and for my dismissal."

At this point, she was silent for a few moments. She thought about the entire day, from the requalifying and testing in the morning to the second her team started their pursuit of Ed's shooter, to the takedown of Neil Cavell in the evening.

She thought of Greg's curt commands to her during the call, his shortness and his seeming impatience with how things were progressing. At the time, she'd let it go, because it was his TL's life on the line. Besides, she knew better than to expect him to show her preferential treatment just because they were involved with each other.

Now, she reasoned Greg might also have been brusque with her because Toth had been listening in to the entire exchange. _But it shouldn't have mattered_, _Greg_, she thought, _even if Toth managed to guess something about us, I'm on Team Three, and you're on Team One._

"How can I look my two team members in the eye and tell them I don't want them seeing each other?" Greg asked her. "It's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"No, it isn't," she countered. "_We _aren't on the same team; we're not breaking the rules."

"Would you be saying that if Jules had been the one to go to Team Three and you had been the one to stay with Team One?" Greg shot back.

"Okay, I can't pretend the thought hasn't crossed my mind," she answered slowly, "but Toth would have no grounds when it comes to us. Sam and Jules are a different case entirely. And anyway, I thought they'd stopped seeing each other."

Greg looked away. "They may have stopped seeing each other, but…"

"But… ?"

"I don't think you ever stop feeling something for someone else – not after what they've been through."

"So, that's it, then," she said sourly, "Toth's made it so it either comes down to your job, or their happiness."

"Yeah, that's what it comes down to," Greg mumbled, wondering how he was going to face the new day, wondering how he was going to regain the trust and confidence of his team.

She went back to working stress-relieving circles on his chest, unsure if her gesture was having any comforting effect at all.

He instinctively understood her desire to console him. After so many years of being alone and of picking himself up when there was no one left to support him, it was a luxury he thought he'd never again be able afford. Greg drew her in closer, burying his face on her shoulder, hoping that somehow she'd be able to chase away his fears.

"Donna," he said miserably, almost breaking down completely in her arms, "I just don't know what to do anymore."

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